I was a mess, an empty shell, an uncontrolled chaos. 30 years old and I was starting from the beginning. Fantastic. With more time available than I had in years, I tried to find my place in the world. More important, I tried to find myself. I succeeded, though not in the manner I anticipated. I discovered that I am a woman.

Sex. Drugs. Decadence. I spent my mid to late 20s as a socialite and nightcrawler. I traveled all around North America by plane, train, and automobiles carousing with whores, people in the nightlife industry, electronic music producers and performers, and neon colored party kids dipped in glitter, high on MDMA. People travel to cities like Las Vegas every year, and pay a premium to experience a cliché facsimile of my actual life. 

I slept in shabby motels and luxury establishments. I once chucked a bottle of Jack Daniels that I finished into an empty pool several stories below. I had sex with a woman wearing a leather miniskirt and ripped fishnets on a hotel balcony overlooking Hollywood and Vine. Countless flights, several timezones, black town cars, surrounded by pleasure seeking party monsters, Glass Table Girls, and all the alcohol I could consume.

I had spent much of my waking life to that point either actively trying to kill myself, or secretly hoping someone or something would do the honor for me. I describe the lifestyle I had at the time as maladaptive hedonism—I had a taste, knack, and talent for a smorgasbord pleasurable activities. Evenings filled with copious about of sex and controlled substance use was standard practice. Life was a dark cabaret scored by Mötley Crüe and Black Sabbath. One phone call from California and that was all over. 

I always knew something was off kilter, that I was an Other in some way. I felt alien, like I did not belong inside of the body I am contained in, much less the planet that I inhabit. I felt like a Monster, I even have that word tattooed on my right bicep. I was broken without the slightest idea of how to be fixed. Now—I understood. I experienced a wave of relief that was and remains indescribable. 

I understood my small wrists, wiry frame, and immaculate eyebrows. I understood my disdain for male socialization, and why I internalized my awareness of the depths and dimensions of toxic masculinity, which manifested as a deep self-hatred. I understood everything. I was also terrified. Who could I tell? Did I want to transition? I did not graduate college. My job experience was restaurants, drug dealing, and whoring. What the fuck was I supposed to do?

I made a reasonable decision and became a Witch.

I have been interested in the occult (hidden knowledge) for as long as I can remember. I loved television shows like Bewitched, the Addams Family, and Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I devoured stories about the paranormal—Bigfoot, Area 51, the Loch Ness Monster, I was here for all of it. Much of my early 20s was dedicated to studying cults and secret societies. I became a practicing meditator around 25, which helped me maintain a semblance of sanity within a bubbling cauldron of chaos.

Desperate to put myself back together and rebuild my life from scratch, I did a self-directed, fully immersive initiation into the spiritual practices of Tantra and Taoism. I do not recommend this by the way. It is unwise and extremely dangerous. That said, I am not alive today without this initiation. The reality is, my knowledge and experience with the occult saved my life. It is my mission now to pass this knowledge on so that other women may reclaim their power and themselves. 

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